


I Want You To

by narrowredoubt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrowredoubt/pseuds/narrowredoubt
Summary: Sirius makes the morally dubious decision not to correct Remus when he awakens with no memory and assumes that they're together.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 205





	I Want You To

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed and subject to future edits. If you'd like to comment, please feel free to include constructive criticism on anything you find could use improvement. Thanks for reading! You can also find me [on tumblr](https://narrowredoubt.tumblr.com).

Sirius was there sleeping uncomfortably in a chair by the bedside, as he had been for days now—ostensibly on watch—when Remus finally opened his eyes.

On Remus’s latest assignment for the Order, something had gone wrong. They had had to track him down with infuriatingly imprecise locator spells when a charmed amulet Sirius had made him carry secretly had sent out a distress signal, indicating that something had gone awry. When they had found him, he had been unconscious, and badly injured. Sirius had felt fiercely glad he had insisted on the amulet instead of dropping the matter as Remus would’ve preferred, accusing him of paranoia or a lack of faith in Remus’s ability as an member of the Order.

After having found him, Sirius had brought Remus to a muggle hospital to be treated and stayed in case they were being tracked by Death Eaters or any of their mercenary werewolf enforcers. Some of Remus’s injuries were the result of curses and were frustratingly slow to respond to non-magical means of healing, but there was no way he could be brought to St. Mungo’s or even any magical independent practice with the increase in discriminatory Ministry policies against non-humans.

But worst of all was that for three days Remus had been lain out on the bed, insensible for the most part. And the times he had briefly returned to consciousness, it had been in a state of confusion and upset that had been difficult to watch in a man ordinarily so self-possessed. There was a chance something had been inflicted on him mentally in addition to his physical wounds, but there was no way to know for sure what spells he might have been hit with or their unseen effects until he finally awakened naturally. So it had also been up to Sirius to lie to the muggle doctors and staff about Remus’s medical history where he could and to make use of the Confundus where he couldn’t. Years spent loitering in the Hospital Wing at school after full moons served him passably well in that regard, as he found he knew more about Remus’s history and general state of health than even he would have guessed.

So it was evening on the third day that Remus awoke to find himself in a muggle hospital with smarting ribs, a host of lacerations, and a broken leg, enveloped in a bulky cast and elevated in a contraption that restricted his movement on the thin hospital mattress. He had no idea how he had gotten there, and as he mentally catalogued his injuries, he began to realize that there were more gaps in his memory than of just recent events. Possibly the most glaring of which was that he had no recollection of who the man dozing in the visitors chair by his bed might be. He looked to be well above average in height, full of sharp angles from the lanky limbs he had curled into himself in sleep, to his sharp cheekbones, and the widow’s peak that defined how his inky dark hair fell across his forehead. Remus wished there was a way to know who this man was to him without asking, because he was terribly attractive and it seemed imperative that he find out if it might be ok to flirt, just a bit.

He squirmed a bit, trying to distract himself from the puzzle of his visitor, but latching back on to it repeatedly as there wasn’t much else to see in the room, and everything else he tried to remember in detail drifted through his mind like vague shapes cloaked in fog.

The broken leg was a terrible inconvenience, he thought to himself, all the more so because he was certain that any half-competent wizard could heal it in an instant. He didn’t know where his wand might be. Although he supposed if he did have his wand, he would have to weigh the risk of healing his leg mysteriously quickly to get out and try to discover what he had forgotten about himself against breaking the International Statue of Secrecy by arousing the suspicion of the medical staff. But he couldn’t possibly stay until it healed, could he? He had no idea how long a broken leg might take to heal naturally. He couldn’t remember specifics but he was pretty sure no wizard ever suffered a cleanly broken bone for more than the minutes it took to aim a wand and recall the correct incantation. Anyway, no, it couldn’t possibly be too much of a problem, muggles almost certainly were released with broken legs, he thought, that’s what canes and crutches and such were for. But his memory, that was going to be an issue. How could he be released home if he didn’t know where that was?

He tried to gather his thoughts, ignoring the low-grade headache that came upon him as he concentrated hard, thinking fast. His name was Remus Lupin. He was a wizard, and a werewolf. He had grown up in Wales, his mother still lived there, somewhere. He couldn’t recall his childhood home, or the cottage he thought his mother might be living in now. He wasn’t sure if they were one and the same. He didn’t live there with her, he was fairly sure. His life was one defined by keeping secrets and telling half-truths. From most people, he kept it quiet that he was a Dark Creature, and unregistered with the Ministry. But from his mother, he kept that he was gay—no, he liked women. He liked both, but—his mother didn’t know. Or didn’t approve? Had he dated a man, or moved to live where he could be with a lover? He had the feeling that his sexuality and living situation as an adult were connected. He didn’t have a number in mind to assign to his own age. He passed a hand over his jaw, and felt several days’ worth of untrimmed stubble. He was definitely an adult. But where did he work? Where the hell was he living? The man next to him, was he--?

The throbbing in Remus’s skull spiked. His pain otherwise was quite manageable, thankfully. He suspected bodily injuries were nothing new, or that monthly transformations had altered his tolerance for pain. Either that or he’d been dosed with Muggle medications that were quite strong. A broken bone should be hurting loads more than his headache, shouldn’t it? He wasn’t sure.

The man to his left started out of his half-asleep state suddenly, perhaps sensing Remus’s restless shifting movements.

“You’re awake,” he said, and his accent was unexpectedly posh sounding, clashing with the edgy punk style of his well-worn clothing. “How are you feeling?”

Although Remus desperately wanted to know who the handsome man was, he couldn’t possibly just start blurting questions out to him. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Maybe it didn’t matter, it wasn’t hard to deduce he had some kind of amnesia or trauma or something related to his injuries, and the man—oh, how he spoke so kindly—of course he would understand. But Remus still felt incongruously like he’d just met someone at a shop who called him by name, like an old friend of his mother’s, or a classmate from primary school, someone vaguely familiar that he couldn’t remember a single thing about—but to let them catch on that he didn’t know them would be unforgivably rude. Even though it was clear that he and his visitor knew each other somehow, Remus had the mad impulse that he ought to be making an effort at a good impression. And the man’s face, his gaze full of concern, the way he leaned in—Merlin, he was gorgeous, and all his attention was for Remus.

The man wore muggle clothes, a leather jacket and denims, and looked fairly rumpled, as thought he had been sleeping in the uncomfortable metal chair all night. Was it safe to ask where his wand might be? They were friends for certain, and the swooping sensation Remus felt in his stomach as he looked the man over from head to toe, once and then twice—looking for clues, he half-lied to himself—told him they might be something more than just casual mates. Why else would he be waiting here at his sickbed long enough to fall asleep? A friend might stop by and leave a card at best, he thought. And anyway with gaps in what he knew, Remus was going to need some information, so really it would be better to ask… His wandering gaze landed on the man’s shoes—at first glance they seemed like ordinary docs, but the shine of the leather—those were dragonhide. He internally gave a sigh of relief at something he could be sure about: the man was a wizard.

“Would you—er, I’m feeling alright, mostly—d’you know where my wand is?”

The other man grinned, his face relaxing from a slightly pinched look of worry into relief to mirror his own. Typical Moony, Sirius thought to himself, claiming he was "alright" even laid up in bed with a host of injuries. “Yeah, of course, Moony. It’s—it’s still at home where you left it, should’ve brought it with me, but there was no way of knowing when you’d wake up—” He said, with a note of apology in his tone.

Remus found that he didn’t mind at all. He felt a thrill run through him at those words, that his wand was _at home_ , and the man could’ve _brought it with him_. That meant—they lived _together_ , he was sure of it. It wasn’t random lust that drew him to this handsome stranger, he knew this man, felt love for him, though the context and the details were beyond his grasp for now. He didn’t recognize the nickname either—Moony, he had called him—but he grinned back anyway, the other man’s smile becoming infectious. Things might still be muddled at the moment, but he was with someone he loved and it was going to be alright.

“Ah, well, that’s alright then. Then I guess—well, actually this is probably far more serious…” said Remus. Sirius raised his eyebrows at the unusual phrasing. Nobody who had been in their year at Hogwarts used the word “serious” in a sentence anymore, not around him anyway, not since their first three years when they’d been trained out of it collectively by their annoyance at incessant Sirius puns. “I’m not sure why I don’t feel more fussed about it, but you see, I’m afraid I don’t remember how I got here, or why I’m all banged up. And… a lot more too. That I can’t remember at all.”

Sirius, quick on the uptake as ever, nodded in realization. “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

Remus winced and shrugged good-naturedly.

“Sorry. I’m afraid not,” he said. “That is, I’m sure that I know you, and not just because you’ve been sitting here by my bedside. It’s like—I know how I feel about you, but there’s no context, nothing to tell me why. Just that you’re—important.”

Sirius looked surprisingly pleased to hear that. “I suppose I won’t make you guess, then. Seems cruel to take the piss while you’re in hospital,” He said with a tone of good humor. Remus closed his eyes for a moment, and thought hard, his lips moving just slightly.

“Your name… it couldn’t be, pad—erm, pads-something, could it? Padraig? But you don’t sound remotely Irish, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Sirius laughed delightedly, “Oh, close! Very close, it’s probably a good sign that you got that much. In school, you all called me Padfoot. Or well, you still do, along with pr—er, James, and Peter, our mates we shared the dorm with.”

Remus wanted to say more, wanted to tell the man he hadn’t forgotten that he loved him, but the open hospital room felt somewhat too public, especially when he couldn’t remember how far out of the closet either of them were comfortable being. He thought again of his mother, and if the man might know her. He tuned back in to catch what he had continued rambling on about:

“Well, anyway, I’ll take it. I’m sure this would be loads worse if you didn’t know who you were _and_ decided to hate me on sight or something. We can manage this. And, my name is Sirius, Sirius Black.”

Remus waited a beat, hoping that Sirius would say something more, would do it for him and define the feeling that was filling his chest with warmth, but he left off there. Perhaps Sirius didn’t want to alarm him if he thought Remus might not remember that he liked men—that he liked _Sirius_. Should he have been more direct? Or maybe they weren’t out, or maybe it was riskier to say these things in public than he supposed. How to bring it up?

“I do know who I am, at least,” said Remus. “Although I suppose I wouldn’t know if there’s bits I’m missing. Beyond the obvious. I think I’m—there’s things about me. That I don’t tell people. Maybe other secrets I’m supposed to be keeping as well.” His brow furrowed and he brought a hand up to his temple as the pain shot through his head again. That could be as much about his lycanthropy as his sexuality, or any other number of things he couldn’t begin to remember. But strangely, despite having no way to know if Sirius already knew these things about him, he didn’t feel at all worried about telling him, as though a part of him knew it would be alright. But even so… “I’m not sure how much I—what if I say something I shouldn’t?”

“Not to worry,” said Sirius, with a bit of a return to the pinched look from earlier. “We can—we’ll sort that out at home. Best not to do it here. I just—it almost feels like too much to ask, but I hope that you can find a way to trust me.”

“I already trust you, Sirius,” he replied simply. Then with a quick, nervous smile, trying to push the boundary just a bit further, he reached out a hand, and lightly touched the other man’s arm as he said, “There’s something about you—what you are to me—that whatever went wrong couldn’t erase.”

Sirius went so still that for a moment he appeared to have forgotten how to breathe. “Oh,” he said, unable to conceal a sharp wobble in his voice, as his throat seemed determined to squeeze shut on the words. He had perhaps gotten too used to the way their friendship had been marked by their increasingly bitter rows in the years since leaving school. “Oh, okay.” And he looked away, slightly overwhelmed by sentiment, and Remus politely pretended not to notice. Sirius must have been afraid he wouldn’t remember, thought Remus, or that things would change somehow, but Remus was so sure of how he felt, he wouldn’t let them. He thought for sure Sirius must have gotten the message by now.

“So we’ll talk more at, um, at _home_ ,” said Remus, giving Sirius an opening to collect himself and move the conversation along. Only the slightest rise in intonation betrayed his quiet joy and the leap of his heart at the phrase, at the thought of sharing a home with the other man. “And I suppose that’s so there won’t be muggles to overhear?” asked Remus idly, to fill the silence.

Sirius shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes again yet, attempting to distract himself with logistics. He cleared his throat roughly before he spoke again.

“Muggles are the least of our worries, mate. That’s why you’re here, middle of nowhere, muggle facilities—they’re doing their best, it’s not that their medicine is no good, but it’s not up to what you’ve been put through, it’s barely adequate, really. But we couldn’t risk being hunted down by that lot, so here we are.”

That didn’t sound good. _Being hunted_. Was Sirius a werewolf as well? But he didn’t think these were injuries typical of the full moon. But when he tried to recall what a post-full moon recovery was like for him, his headache became piercing, and he couldn’t focus on a single thing. He had to try and figure it out logically. On the one hand it would make more sense to be treated for lycanthropy-related harm at a Muggle hospital than at St. Mungo’s, of course, because there was prejudice, but his injuries could have been healed more easily the magical way, so why not find a sympathetic Healer who worked independently? But then there was his memory loss—what could have caused that to happen as the wolf? It didn’t make sense. Something else had happened.

Sirius was still talking, rambling really, muttering to himself.

“Had to switch loads of shifts around with the others so I could take these ones, to guard you. I had to convince the old man it was necessary—you see, this is the third time you’ve woken up, but the first time you’ve been coherent. The last two times, you didn’t know where you were or—anything really. We don’t know exactly what happened to you, and it might be critically important for the war. In the best case, since you’re already loads better than the last times you’ve woken up you’ll be on the mend from whatever’s affected your memory on your own. But of course there’s other things we can try with help from the—from friends.”

“The war?” asked Remus faintly.

Sirius looked stricken.

“Well, I suppose that’s one reason you seem cheerier than usual,” he said uncomfortably. Remus wasn’t sure that he liked that it seemed Sirius was less upset at having his name forgotten than not knowing about this war business. Anxiety welled up in his belly at the realization that the holes in his knowledge were not only larger than he’d imagined, but that they might be purposeful, targeted—the result of being on the front lines of a war that until a moment ago he hadn’t known existed. He didn’t know how to handle it.

And could he have been wrong about his closeness with Sirius? He said he had been assigned to stay by Remus, who was apparently important to some war effort. Had he assumed too much? They lived together, but what if they were nothing more than flat mates? Meanwhile Remus had been doing his best to throw himself at Sirius for their entire conversation, assuming his feelings were reciprocated on the flimsiest of evidence. Disappointment stabbed through him like a blast of winter wind, putting all of his quick, bright thoughts of love on ice like early flowers in a late frost.

Sirius hadn’t hinted anything one way or the other yet, but surely Remus had been forward enough—if they were in a relationship, as Remus had suspected, because what else could bring out these feelings bursting from somewhere deep inside—surely even if they weren’t publicly out, or their thing together was still new, Sirius would have some way to hint it back to him? He sighed.

“So you mentioned—our friends? The ones who can help us, are they the same ones, James and Peter? Can you tell me about them?” asked Remus, making an effort not to obsess on Sirius alone.

Sirius nodded, and then, seemingly struck by inspiration, dug a thick envelope out of a roomy pocket of his jeans. “Here, look—just got these copies from the Yule party.”

It was filled with photographs, wizarding ones that moved. Remus flipped through them, grateful for something to do with his hands, but not focusing overly much, concerned as he was primarily with his romantic preoccupations, secondly by his faulty memory, and lastly by the ominous mention of war, and his own involvement in it.

He stopped on one where he recognized both himself and Sirius, along with three others—all of them clearly thick as thieves and having a raucously good time. He tried to focus, and meditate on what gut feelings he could sense from them.

“The redhead,” he said to Sirius, as he indicated the photograph in his hand, “when I imagine them all in front of me, I feel a similar kind of way about her that I do to you. I—did I date her, once? I feel like I must have.” Despite his better judgement, Remus felt so strongly that his instincts about Sirius were correct that he decided it was worth it still trying to stress, as subtly as possible, that his feelings for the other man went beyond the platonic, until he received some kind of confirmation that he wasn’t just making it all up.

“Lily Potter. You’d better not repeat that in front of James,” Sirius said with a laugh, apparently missing his implication completely. “I don’t know if you ever did, I suppose you might’ve tried it on as prefects together or something… Anyway those two, Lily and Prongs—er, James that is, the one in the glasses, they’re married now.”

Remus absorbed this information and tried not to be too disappointed that he’d fallen in love with someone so terribly thick-headed. Could Sirius not pick up on a hint? Would Remus actually be bold enough—or, by the end of this conversation, frustrated enough that he drop all politeness and ask outright? Oh, Merlin, what if they were exes? No, he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t afford to keep on with the wild guesses. The pictures ought to have clues, he thought suddenly. But no, upon closer inspection, they were of a party with an unusually assorted diversity of guests, probably far too public of a gathering for the pair of them to be obvious. He sighed.

Review the facts. They had married friends. If they were all at that stage in their lives already, he thought longingly, then perhaps the level of domesticity he suspected about his own relationship with Sirius could really be the case as well? He was still terribly unsure, now more so than he had been before, but it filled him with some sort of indescribable happiness to think that they could be.

“Are we—” Remus licked his lips nervously, not sure how to phrase it amid his multiplying doubts. “Will I be able to go h—er, to check out of the hospital? Soon?”

Sirius nodded eagerly in reply, “Yes, yeah, of course. I haven’t been home in days though, I ought to pop back and fix the place up before you’re released. I’ll talk to the staff,” he said, and he looked around distractedly as if he could have summoned a nurse like a house elf, by his words alone. “Tomorrow morning should work, best not to rush things. You’ve barely healed at all, of course, but nothing a few spells can’t fix. It was important to have you stable and somewhere secret until you’d woken up, and maybe if you get a bit of real sleep you’ll remember more by morning.”

“Right. Okay,” said Remus. “But what about—you’ve mentioned it’s only been days, it’s been far too soon for me to have healed by Muggle standards, yeah? And what of—I don’t know what they’re going to do about records. Has there been paperwork? I—I don’t remember how Muggle insurance works, there’s no way I’m in their system officially.”

“Worried they’ll try to mail us the bill by post? Nonsense, Moony, that’s nothing a quick trip to the billing department and a subtle Confundus can’t sort out. And anyway in this social climate we’ve got to cover our tracks thoroughly. I’ve given the muggles your information—all of it false, mind you, and I’ll double back to vanish the files after we’ve left and I’ve taken you home.”

Sirius fidgeted a bit as he outlined their next steps, certain despite Remus’s strangely open and solicitous good mood so far, that Remus would find some part of his plan to object to before long, as he had always known him to be so habitually prickly and on his guard. Hating to be helped, bristling at the mention of bills and money. Snappish when Sirius tried to tell him the spare room of his flat was always open and waiting for him.

.

They had shared his current flat briefly before, but Remus struggled to hold down a job long-term as employers either caught on to his condition, or if they were muggles, wouldn’t approve his request for sick days in entry-level positions as frequently as he really needed them. When Remus had finally let them all know that he was going to be the order’s liaison with the werewolves who lived outside, on the fringes of regular society, he had informed Sirius that he was technically moving out as it was going to be a long-term stint. It had sounded vaguely reasonable that he couldn’t afford to pay rent on rooms that would remain empty, just storing his things while he was out working for the Order, but that was assuming Sirius had ever set him a rent fee to pay in the first place, or that he would charge it just for having his things boxed up. Why would Remus think Sirius wouldn’t be alright with making space for his things? It’s not like he could drag it all—or any of it—with him while doing his werewolf ambassador work. But that was how Remus was, prideful and unreasonable to the last if the matter appeared like it might have anything to do with the social, legal and economic barriers that had sprung up when they left the artificially even playing field of Hogwarts, because Remus couldn’t escape the prejudice against what he was out in the world, and it frequently came between them as adults.

Sirius had tried to make him understand in every way he could, aside from outright begging, that he would support him, unasked and unconditionally, with a single room of his flat at the minimum. But Remus wouldn’t have it, refused to see sense, and so three and a half months ago, he had moved out. Sirius had suspected that the assignment too conveniently coincided with the absolute last of Remus’s money running out, and that he had arranged it with Dumbledore when he had known he could no longer afford to continue paying Sirius the pittance for rent that he, Remus, insisted on for his pride.

And so Sirius, sick with worry and upset that Remus was going where he couldn’t follow, had foolishly picked a fight to tell him what Remus already knew: that he wouldn’t be working a regular job while he was on assignment for the Order, and so after returning couldn’t possibly have the money to afford another flat, and that if he could only stop being so stubborn, stop being so bloody difficult, he could just go back to sharing Sirius’s London flat. Remus had pointed out coldly, in an implacable tone that he was perfectly capable of finding other options that wouldn’t require taking Sirius’s unwanted charity, and if it amounted to sleeping under a bridge in midwinter, then it would still be preferable to living with anyone who thought they could tell Remus Lupin how to live his life. Sirius had been frantic with anxiety on the inside regarding the danger and the difficulty Remus seemed determined to throw himself into, but unfortunately for them both, it translated out loud mostly to being livid at the rejection in his words, and they had fought. It was just as well that Remus didn’t remember that now.

.

Remus thought about Sirius’s words, trying to glean some further truth from them. Sirius had implied it again, twice, that they lived together. At worst they could have been just flat mates, but he had said—they’ll _send us_ the bill, not _send you_ the bill, hadn’t he? That made it seem so very domestic—a real, equal partnership, where they were able to share everything. He had absolutely no details, couldn’t guess where or how well they lived, how they dealt with money or shared responsibilities. It was possibly far too good to be true, but he wanted it so fiercely to be real—unlike their friends, they couldn't be married of course, but could it be that they shared other aspects of their lives as partners, as well as a home? What were they to each other?

“They’re married,” he repeated. “James and Lily. They—have they bought a house together?”

“Erm, yeah, they have actually. Did you remember that?”

“No, I, ah, only guessed it.” Remus mumbled, “And the two of us…”

“Hm? What’s that, Moony?”

“We—we live together. And, you sort of—it sounded like we share our finances together?

Sirius stared at him, a bit wide-eyed, confused at how he’d leapt to that idea, when with the context of his past behavior and their bitter fights he knew for a fact that the old Remus would’ve been more enthusiastic about living in a cave than “sharing his finances” with Sirius. But if Moony under the effects of some memory modification kept making assumptions like that, then this might be possibly be easier than he could have imagined.

Maybe because Remus had no idea currently about their class backgrounds, or the differences in where and how they’d grown up, beyond what was made obvious from their accents. Maybe he could finally get Remus to accept some bloody help. Every failure, every job he’d been sacked from, every way in which the Ministry of Magic and wizarding society in general conspired systematically in Remus’s oppression since leaving Hogwarts had fed Remus’s bitterness and his mad determination to get through it on his own, and Sirius knew this. But he would never understand why Remus reacted the way he did to it, and he didn’t know how to change the way he offered his help to suit what Remus needed, or what he would be willing to accept. But now—with no one and nothing else in the world as far as he could remember, Remus was willing for once in his life to just take what Sirius had to offer on faith and trust in him. He was willing to accept this as a fantastically convenient break and not consider the ethics of the matter.

“Mm-hm! Yes—that’s, sounds about right, yeah. We’re—we, do that stuff together” nodding somewhat exaggeratedly. Sirius was too amazed by his luck and this change in Remus that seemed too good to be true to make an effort at sounding casual or believable about it.

He was going to go home and fix up the spare room at once, spend all night on it if he had to and come and fetch Remus in the morning. Maybe he could make it seem like Remus had never left, and worry later about when he’d finally remember that at some point he had. Filled with purpose and a building manic energy at the prospect of being allowed to take care of Remus in a way he normally would never have allowed, Sirius sprang out of the chair, ready to go at once and get started before something terrible like Remus actually remembering that he seemed to despise the spare room (or what it represented) could happen.

“I, I really ought to get back and fix everything up for you for tomorrow. I’m—I’m so glad you’re finally back, Moony,” he said. Remus noted with some satisfaction and no little measure of hope that Sirius seemed elated at the chance to make things ready to welcome Remus back home. He surmised he had been away on his mysterious assignment for quite some time, and that now he was potentially missing huge chunks of his life. It was a little awkward, but if Sirius felt a fraction of the way Remus did, he must be missing him terribly, even as they were sat not a foot apart.

Strangely, Sirius hadn’t yet tried to reach out to him, not so much as a friendly touch, but the way he sat since he’d realized Remus had woken up, twisted in his chair so that his whole body faced Remus, like a flower to the sun, made him think they were usually quite a bit more attached than this, or more physical. It might also have been the complicating factor of the pulley system that currently held his broken leg rigid, and prevented much movement in the bed on his part. But he couldn’t let Sirius leave without knowing just a bit more, knowing for sure. So he had to say it first.

“I love you, you know.”

Sirius fumbled the thick envelope he was stuffing back into his pocket, and sent several dozen of the photos sailing to the floor.

“W-What,” His deep-set eyes went round and he looked a bit bug-eyed in his surprise. Remus tried again.

“I woke up and I hardly recognized you sitting next to me. I didn’t know your name until you’d told it to me again, and I still haven’t a clue how we met, or—about anything personal really. But I know that I trust you. And I know that when I saw you, you made me feel—I knew that you were special, to me.” He thought that normally he’d have ducked his head by now, turned his gaze somewhere neutral while he let out this wild, vulnerable confession. But he kept his eyes firmly on Sirius’s. He had to know. And if it were true, if they both already knew it, then it really wasn’t a confession at all. Not if they were—together. So Remus could be brave and could say this and not be embarrassed by how strongly he felt it. Sirius deserved to be loved, of that too, he was certain. And Sirius deserved to know it.

“I love you, Sirius.” He held out his hand and made a little grabbing gesture, and Sirius reached out and put his hand in his. Remus had no strength or leverage to pull Sirius down to him, but he gave a minute tug and tightened his grip and Sirius obliged him by bending over the bed, resting one knee on the chair to lean down closer.

To Remus’s view, he moved smoothly, normally, with all of his natural grace still intact, but Sirius felt himself grow clumsy, his limbs heavy, as though they were trapped underwater. There was a rushing in his ears, and he felt like he moved through a charmed space or a warped mirror surface, with boundaries expanding and contracting in unexpected ways.

Remus was the one who didn’t know him anymore, but this Remus who was mostly emotion and no experience, without much in the way of fear or inhibition seemed to have the frightening talent of guessing things about Sirius that he had not yet even properly admitted to himself, and so this Remus was strange and new to him too. They were so close now. All he could see was Remus’s face, and Sirius was taken over by his presence, overwhelmed, his whole perception of the world narrowed to this thin, wan face nearly engulfed by the papery hospital linens. Remus loved him. Remus _loved him_.

Remus’s normally hazel irises were engulfed by his dilated pupils, only a ring of bright amber left around the edge. His stare pierced through Sirius, who had never felt more seen. He had known, had guessed, or maybe just had hoped, really, that Remus might be a little queer, that he looked at men sometimes the way he did women. That maybe he had even been with men before. But they’d never talked about it. And he, Sirius, had never told anyone—had never dared. Nobody knew Sirius was gay.

“Moony, how did you know? How did you _know_?”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me,” said Remus. And without another word, without a moment of hesitation, Sirius held Remus’s face in his two hands and kissed him for the first time, kissed him hard and open-mouthed, like they were lovers.

At length, Remus said,

“I want you. I want—this, in, in _our_ bed. At home.”

Sirius’s mouth, with his lips bitten red and swollen with kissing, dropped open. _Our bed_ , he mouthed silently. _Our bed, oh_ shit.

“Right, yes, the flat.” He finally said aloud, with a roughness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

New plan: go home, forget the spare room, empty half _his_ room to fill with Remus’s things, cast an Engorgement Charm the bed…

Remus had decided he wanted to share his life with Sirius—and maybe it was only because he didn’t know all the facts, yeah, but the point was that he _wanted_ it, wanted it enough that in the absence of any other cues he had imagined up a whole potential history that was, just, shockingly domestic, where they kissed on the mouth and shared—a bed, and shared their, their _finances_ , dear Merlin.

Remus wanted this, wanted him. And—Merlin help him—so did Sirius.


End file.
